Need to finish up on the Maritime Writers' Workshop stuff so I can get onto new things. Well let's see. I closed a bar every night I was there, though I'd be hard-pressed to name them . . . the first Sunday was Old Government House, which technically I didn't get to close down but I was the last straggler to the bus and Rhona had to come drag me outta there; Monday was the James Joyce Pub in the Lord Beaverbrook Hotel; Tuesday was Windsor Castle, the grad house; I believe Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday was all The Taproom (guilty parties might want to correct me if I'm wrong); the second Sunday was Boom, which was an excellent cap to the week. Surprised I didn't see Sandy there on the dancefloor. At some point during the week I met Liz, who is a kick-ass good person that I liked from the second I met her. I also got to hang out some with Karen who is also on the WFNB board and met some other writers I enjoyed a lot. Loved her too! I'm excited about this board thing so far, seems like a good bunch of people.
So on Sunday afternoon Joe, Liz and I went to the Odd Sundays reading at Molly's. I mentioned this in an earlier post. After the readings were over, we were just sitting there minding our own business when this rather elderly and undermedicated woman went completely insane. I'm not even kidding. It was a manic episode of some sort, very loud and aggressive. At first when she attacked Joe I thought she must've been kidding, that they knew each other and this was some sort of act they had going on, because it was just so bizarre. She announced herself as a poet, then accused Joe of laughing at her when she read her poetry, said all this stuff about him not publishing her work, challenging him to do it. Then announced she saw a reporter from one of the local papers, who happened to be a relative of Liz's and was not anywhere near the place. Followed by, "Are you taping this? Is this being recorded?" Like holy paranoia! That's when I knew for sure she was nuts. But she didn't stop there, went on to say about how K.C. Irving paid as much taxes as anyone else, earned every dime he had honestly etc. Other than the Jamaican woman I used to see on the subway all the time in Toronto, I've never seen anyone so nuts. I remember she used to run up to men on the subway, get right in their faces and scream the most lewd sexual commentary, accuse them of doing these things to her in one breath saying she wouldn't let them do it again. Then in the next breath begging them to do something even more lewd and crude. Now that was crazy, but this lady was right up there for sure.
Mood: slowly coming around to clarity as the air in Sackville gets into my brain cells. I know you're all so jealous that I'm not sweltering like the rest of you.
Drinking: Water, water and more water as I try to hydrate after a week of hard drinking
Winamp loaded with every mp3 I own (many thousand) turned on random selection spews forth the following: Smashing Pumpkins, 1979 followed by Fleetwood Mac, Leather & Lace; Peaches, Fuck the Pain Away; Rush, Tom Sawyer; The Cranberries, Zombie; Robbie Williams, Feel; Foreigner, I Want to Know What Love Is; Teenage Head, Disgusteen; Pat Benetar, We Belong; REM, Man on the Moon; Cheap Trick, I Want You to Want Me
Hair: freshly laundered and hanging loose
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1 comment:
yes she was very undermedicated. I am still reeling.and frightened to meet her again. I should never again attend a reading at molly's.
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